Page 20 of Violet

“Nole...” Come on, brain. Work! “Nole, be a dear and put away the returns, please?” Five points.

“For you, anything.” Nole winks and gives me a goofy, heart-flipping grin.

I know he doesn’t mean anything by it—not when I probably remind him of his grandmother—but my cheeks flush, and my heart nearly explodes out of my chest.

“Did you take all your pills this morning?” he demands, kneeling down in front of me so we’re at eye level.

“My pills?” I don’t have to pretend to forget all about them. Not with Nole this up close and personal.

“Let me grab them for you.” He throws open my desk drawer, pushes aside Amber’s copy of Love Blooms, and rummages in my purse for my pill box.

“Thank you, dear,” I reply, my voice and hands shaking.

“Here, let me help.” Nole places the pills on my open palm and then holds my mug of water to my lips.

I swallow down the little sugar pills, which are nothing more than a convenient excuse I can fall back on every time I overreact to Nole. Except this time, no matter how hard I try to collect myself, it just doesn’t work.

Nole’s just being a good guy—helping the elderly, doing his part—but it doesn’t feel that way. His touch is intimate. Loving. Caring. He makes me want to hug him and cry and make love to him, all at the same time.

“Violet, I’m really worried,” Nole says, taking my hand in his.

My pulse spikes, and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I won’t survive today. Because if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to shift.

If I can’t handle Nole or Cash on their own, there’s no way I’ll survive being around both of them at once. When the blood mage is done with the program, he’ll come looking for me—I’m sure of it—and if Liam comes back, too... let’s just say everyone in Silver Springs will know the truth before the day’s out. And I won’t see tomorrow’s sunrise.

“I have a terrible headache, dear,” I lie. Five points. “I think I should go home and rest.”

“Of course, Vi.” Nole gives my hand another squeeze that’s nearly my undoing.

I quickly grab my purse, shove my sister’s book inside, and practically run out of the door. Slowly. While leaning on my walker. With Betty by my side.

Chapter 9

Violet

Betty insists I share her cab and drops me off in front of my building. I get inside, take the old, clanking elevator to the fourth floor, and only then realize that I forgot to give Nole instructions on what to do while I’m gone. Not that he needs any instructions. He may be my assistant, but he started working at Spell Library a few short weeks after I did. Except for being late here and there, he’s a natural.

He’d make one hell of a librarian if he went to college and got his degree. The thought makes me chuckle, because it’s not like I have my degree, either. Eighty-year-old Violet does, but I’m no more qualified to run Spell Library than Nole is.

The only thing I’m really worried about is that he’ll run into Cash—or Liam—and the guys will tell him I’m their mate.

It’s not like Nole will even care. I’m just his old lady boss, and I shouldn’t forget it, I berate myself as the elevator door slowly creaks open. I just as slowly make my way to my apartment.

“Violet? What happened? What’s wrong?” My eighty-year-old roommate and best friend—whom I currently look like, and who also happens to be named Violet—demands as soon as I walk through the door, close said door, and lock it behind me. Her tone betrays her worry, but she keeps her voice to a whisper-shout, since we can’t risk having a neighbor overhear. Not when, as far as anyone knows, Violet in apartment 4B lives alone.

“Everything’s fine.” I dump my giant old-lady purse—an ugly, patchwork tote that has seen better days—on the coffee table next to Violet’s poetry book, shift back to my own body, and plop backwards onto the couch with a groan.

“Then why are you home in the middle of the afternoon? And why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” I ask as I kick off my orthopedic shoes—easier than having to shift what I’m wearing too—and throw my legs over the side of the couch.

“That.” Violet waves her arm in my direction, as if to encompass all of me. “You’re supposed to be at work.”

“I came home sick.”

“What’s wrong? Do you have a fever?” Violet instantly pushes to her feet—not an easy feat, I would know—and feels my forehead.

“I’m not actually sick. You’d know if I were. I spent the day shifted into you.”